


Hero

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Smut, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Comfort/Angst, Enhanced Reader, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Hate Sex, Language, Love/Hate, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Sex, angst/smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 19:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20318380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: After being attacked and nearly on his deathbed, Steve seeks refuge at the last place anyone would think to look.





	Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Italics are flashbacks.

Steve’s breath rattles with every push and pull of air. Wet and thick. Tastes bitter like pennies. Blood seeps between his teeth, stains his mouth like lipstick, macabre, ghoulish. There’s a gash above his eyebrow. Wide enough he can feel bone, slick, porous. He sees red as it gushes down. A waterfall of blood. Hot and slippery. 

_ They first meet in Prague. It’s close to midnight. He’s almost to the safehouse when she literally knocks him off his feet. The only warning he wasn’t alone was a shimmering blur, just out of the corner of his eye. She’s after the intel  _ ** _he_ ** _ worked so damn hard to get, and she ain’t goin’ down without a fight. _

_ When she draws blood, she’s grinning, giddy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It annoys him. He shouldn’t have allowed her to get so close. He’s taken aback by her almost childlike appearance. Wide eyes, too-white teeth, hair in a high pony, too-short shorts, and a shirt that has  _ My Little Pony _ emblazoned across the chest.  _

_ Twilight Sparkle, he thinks.  _

_ Clint’s daughter likes them, he remembers.  _

_ He wonders,  _ ** _Where the hell did Hydra get her?_ ** _ , right before a blade he hadn’t been expecting glints in the moonlight. It burns his skin as metal glides through flesh. He raises a hand to his cheek, pulls back liquid crimson, and hisses. God, he hates her and he hasn’t officially met her yet.  _

His left arm is broken. Probably from the fire escape that so rudely slammed into him after he jumped off the roof. No, it was the concrete below. It wasn’t the fall that almost killed him. It was the sudden stop. Well,  _ one _ of the variables that almost killed him.

_ Turns out, she’s not from Hydra. He’s just as surprised as the rest of them. She’s a goddamn  _ ** _god_ ** _ , or so Thor says.  _

_ Thor growls her name. “Aphrodite and Athena had a baby -” _

_ “That’s impossible,” interjects Tony.  _

_ “It’s Greece. They’re gods. They can do whatever the fuck they want,” Thor scoffs. “Blessed by Zeus, damned by Hades, she is -” _

_ “Fuckin’ crazy,” Steve interjects, still sporting a mark on his cheek. It’s been three months since they crossed paths. It should have healed. _

_ Thor eyes Steve’s wound. “Helfire,” he murmurs curiously. “Can’t let her get too close.” _

_ “I know that,” Steve growls, hands in fists by his side. “Where is she going next?” _

_ “How the fuck would I know?” Thor grunts, pawing at his hammer almost nervously. _

_ “You’re a god,” Steve barks. “Figure it out.” _

Three ribs are cracked. One of his lungs is punctured. The other is probably filling with blood. He’s pretty sure his orbital socket is smashed. His left knee and shoulder had been dislocated during the fight. Two fingers on his right hand are swollen and purple, dislocated, bent back. His left hip is cracked, and he’s pretty sure there’s a blade sticking out of his back. 

_ She gets the drop on him in Tulsa. She surprises him so completely that he screams. Then, with a shit-eating grin and a wink, she’s plunging a blade into his thigh. It burns. Acid, bubbling, eating at his muscles and flesh.  _

_ Fuckin’ immortals and their goddamn Helfire!  _

_ Gritting his teeth, Steve yanks out the dagger. Instead of throwing it down, he spins it in his palm and grips it tight, blade parallel to his arm. He takes a defensive stance behind the shield.  _

_ “You wanna kill me, come on, already,” he shouts.  _

_ “That’s what the poison is for, Stevie,” she chimes back, blowing him a kiss.  _

_ No, literally. Her voice is a like fucking windchimes. Soft, melodic, fucking beautiful. He hates it. He’s only met her a handful of times and she’s crawled deep under his skin he can’t get her out. No matter how deep he fucking digs. _

** _Not Helfire, shit._ ** _ _

_ He stumbles to his knees as she disappears, back into the shadows she emerged from, and Steve is struggling to turn on his comms. _

He walks, no, shuffles down the sidewalk, thankful for the pitch. Nobody can see him cry in the shadows. He has one destination in mind. It’s not the safest place to go, but he has no other choice. The safe house he had been staying at for the last three weeks was just infiltrated, and he had gotten his ass handed to him. Pain screams throughout the entirety of him, white-hot, surging, bone scraping against bone, blinding. 

_ Oahu. July. Fucking humid and hot.  _

_ She crashes the party wearing nothing more than a white and silver bikini, red stars on her breasts, and a pair of white shorts. Too tight, too high. She definitely had to shave before she left… wherever she was staying.  _

_ Wait. Do gods need to shave? Thor has a beard, as did Odin. It would only make sense that -  _

_ Steve’s on his back, glaring up at the psychotic god that’s straddling his waist, knees on his wrists, and a Helfire blade pressed to his neck. _

_ “Poison didn’t take,” she notes sadly, dragging the blade down the column of his neck.  _

_ “Takes more than poison to get rid of me, doll,” he grinds out, vile, venom, scathing.  _

_ She purrs low in her throat and wriggles her hips. “Say it again.” There’s lightning, raw and powerful, flickering in her eyes, in the air around them.  _

_ He hates the fact he can hear lust surging through her body. What’s even worse, his body responds in kind. He’s half-hard and aching, itching to fuck the arrogance right out of her. _

_ With a smirk and shift of his hips, he obliges. “Doll.”  _

_ She kisses him,  _ ** _hard_ ** _ . Tongue curling in his mouth, obscene moans spilling out, red-star-covered nipples brushing against his tac gear. She bites his tongue and lips, draws blood, sucks it down. She squeezes her thighs and rolls her hips. He chases her lips and tongue when she sits back, honest-to-goodness whining when she’s out of reach.  _

_ “I’ll see you later, lover,” she promises, fingertips smoothing against her swollen lips. With a crack of lightning, she’s gone. _

It’s not far. He’s sure of that. Sycamore Drive, off of fourth. Or is it sixth? No, it’s fourth. He’s positive that’s the address she had given him. They may hate each other, but if he is ever in trouble, she has a place. No one knows about it, and those that do, have been sworn to silence. Failure to comply meant a brutal death. 

_ They fuck for the first time in Budapest.  _

_ He has her pinned to the wall, and he knows it’s only because she’s allowing it. His hand is between her legs, taffeta skirt rucked up around her waist. She is bare beneath it, and he had almost come undone when he touched her. No cotton. No silk or satin. Only wet flesh and wiry curls.  _

_ She is slick and tight, mewling as his fingers drive her to oblivion. She’s got a hand in his hair, holding him to her as he bites her breasts. Blunt teeth, ivory skin. Dexterous tongue, swirling, sucking, flicking. She tastes so goddamn sweet and he wants to devour her _

_ “Shouldn’t be doin’ this, doll,” he pants. “I fuckin’ hate you.” _

_ “I hate you, too, baby,” she keens, eyes rolling back as she clenches his fingers.  _

_ He rips open his pants and pushes into her, a drawn out curse from him while the back of her head hits brick.  _

_ “Hard, Stevie,” she begs, legs curled around his waist. “Fuck me hard.”  _

_ So he does. He slams her into the wall, brick scuffing the perfect swell of her ass and his knuckles. He doesn’t know if it’s because she’s a god or because he’s so goddamn hard it hurts, but he can  _ ** _feel_ ** _ how good she feels, how good he’s making her feel.  _

_ “Yes, Stevie,” she chants. “Like that, baby. Just like that.”  _

_ The brick cracks, shatters as he pounds into her. Sweat is dripping down his back and down his forehead, and goddamn, he just wants to cum so fucking bad, but not before her. Never before her. He presses a thumb to her clit and draws tight circles around the throbbing bud.  _

_ When she cums, electricity fills the air, burning ozone, bright white, pungent. It’s addictive, and Steve would rather die than never fuck her again. _

He pounds on the door when he can’t find the key. Must have fallen out when he… fell… God, is the ground spinning? It’s raining, has been for the last fifteen minutes, and his teeth are chattering. At least he can’t feel the pain anymore. That’s… not actually a good thing. 

The door opens and she’s standing there, hair mussed, cheeks tinted pink, looking up at him with wide eyes, wearing a silk robe and… nothing else. 

“Stevie, baby,” she coos. 

“I… I didn’t know whe - where else to go,” he manages to spit out before darkness consumes him. 

_ By the time they meet in Kazan, Steve’s ‘bout ready to burst. He’s thrumming, every inch of him ready to consume her, ready to be consumed  _ ** _by_ ** _ her. He wants to bury himself between her legs, taste the sweet nectar as she cums. He wants to hear her pleas, the whiny, desperate undertone to her voice she gets when her need to be fucked greatly outweighs all logic. _

_ She rides him, trails left in the dirt by her knees. Hands on his chest, head thrown back, chanting his name as if she’s worshipping his body in church, and God, did she worship him.  _

_ They fill the room with obscene sounds, lewd,  _ ** _dirty_ ** _ , and it’s music to his ears. It’s frantic, passionate, fueled by one commonality; carnal desire.  _

_ She lets go with a scream, shrill, erotic, squeezing his cock.  _

_ Steve finds his release when she reaches ‘round and grabs his balls, maneuvering them between her fingers.  _

He wakes with a groan. Eyes fluttering open, vision blurred. It’s dim, candles glowing. It would be romantic if he hadn’t almost died. 

She approaches, wearing the same damn robe. “I was beginning to think I’d have to start digging a grave,” she partially jokes. 

“Takes more than a ten story fall to kill me,” he grinds out. 

“Careful,” she warns as he moves, legs shifting. “You’ve only been out for a few hours. You’re not healed.”

“Careful,” he shoots back. “You almost sound like you care.” Dizziness washes over him as he moves to a sitting position, arm cradled against him with the help of a sling. 

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Stevie, darling,” she coos, reaching out to pick at the bloody hair matted to his forehead. “I don’t care about anyone.” 

_ He finds himself thinking about her at the oddest times.  _

_ His morning jog. The dark alley in Greece. Afternoons sketching at the park. In Beirut on a mission. At the coffee shop on the corner. In an abandoned motel in Pakistan. Movie nights at the compound. The villa in Italy.  _

_ When he’s knee-deep in blood, carnage, and destruction, he can imagine how much she would enjoy herself. Throwing her power around, exuding something Sam calls ‘big dick energy’.  _

_ Back at the compound or safehouse or cheap ass motel, he would shower and jerk off. He’s never been so horny, ready to absolutely lose control. He wants her,  _ ** _needs_ ** _ her, craves her. _

_ He wants to ask Thor where she is, if he has any other-worldly clue. He won’t, though. He can’t tell anyone about the things they’ve done. He can’t bear to hear their judgement, their scathing words. He won’t be able to handle the way they were inevitably going to look at him, as if he were doing something wrong. And he’s not, at least he’s trying to convince himself he’s not.  _

Two weeks go by, and he’s still at her house. His hip is still cracked, so he’s limping around like a man his age should. Though it’s not shattered any longer, he can’t move his wrist without crying out. 

She disappears most nights, wearing lace, leathers, armed with knives, never a gun. “They take the fun out of everything,” she tells him one night. “Don’t wait up.” 

He keeps himself busy, watching Netflix, eating beef broth and crackers, her favorite ice cream, which is quickly turning into his. He stays busy to keep from worrying. She can handle herself, he knows that firsthand. Still, he finds himself imagining the worst case scenario. 

_ He gets lucky in Rome, lands a blow that sends her reeling, barreling into the wall. No.  _ ** _through_ ** _ the wall.  _

_ She’s absolutely furious, lightning crackling on her skin, in her eyes. “You’re going to regret that, Rogers,” she snarls.  _

_ Her power slams into him, sending him flying. He lands on his ass, teeth clacking, stars bursting in his vision.  _

_ “You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” he chuckles darkly.  _

_ There’s a smirk pulling her lips, fingers flexing, power crackling. “Oh, it’s a  _ ** _very_ ** _ bad thing.”  _

_ He’s pinned to the wall in the blink of an eye and she’s on her knees, licking her lips, tugging roughly at his belt.  _

She’s covered in blood, not hers. He doesn’t know if he should be happy, or angry. She’s alive, but that means someone else isn’t. 

“Who was it?” he grumbles. 

She laughs and waves her hand, dismissing his concern. “Don’t act like you care, Rogers.”

“I think you know damn well that I do care,” he bites out, towering over her. 

She pats his chest, smearing blood on his shirt. “You care about the  _ innocent _ , the wronged. You don’t give a shit about anyone else.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, but she believes exactly what she’s saying. 

“I do care,” he insists. 

“Did you eat my ice cream?” The change in subject is so fast, it gives Steve whiplash. 

_ They’re lying on sweaty sheets, panting, basking in the glow, as cliche as it sounds.  _

_ “You were gentle,” she notes. _

_ “You sound disappointed.”  _

_ A hum leaves her as she rolls to her side. “I didn’t say that.” _

_ “And yet,” he sighs, turning to face her, “you sound disappointed.” _

_ She reaches out and scrapes her nails down his chest. Angry red welts rise to the surface. “I’m used to you being rough, Rogers. I like it when you leave bruises.” _

_ His calloused hand skims up her thigh, over the swell of her hip, and he grips her tight, blunt nails digging into her skin. “I can be rough, doll.”  _

_ “I know, baby,” she coos, her heart fluttering. “Just how I like it.”  _

_ He pounces, a growl in the back of his throat, his cock swelling with renewed interest. _

Another week passes, and she’s straddling his thighs, her hands in his hair. He’s buried deep inside her, hands on her shoulders, leaving bruises. 

“Yes, baby,” she moans, her mouth next to his ear. “Just like that.”

He bites the swell of her breast, blunt teeth drawing blood to the surface. He relishes in the way she constricts around him, how her back arches, the drawn out curse that leaves her. 

She tugs on his hair, making him shiver. “Right there,” she instructs as his hips piston, as his feet spread for leverage. Her eyes roll back as she cums, head lolling back, nails cutting into his shoulder. 

He thrusts deep, three, four more times before he’s cumming, gasping for air, clinging to the goddess in his lap. 

She smears a kiss into his hair and climbs off of him, barely suppressing a moan as he slid free. “Beer?”

“I should get going, actually,” he answers. 

“Already?” She pulls on the same white robe she was wearing three weeks ago and ties her hair back. 

Steve tugs on the clothes she got the morning after he showed up on her doorstep, bloody, beaten almost to death. “I’m healed well enough. Besides, the rest of the gang is probably -”

“Ah, yes,” she sighs. “The  _ Avengers _ . You know, they didn’t seem too worried when you didn’t check in.” 

“Wha- how do you know that?”

“I have eyes and ears all over the place, baby,” she says proudly. “Not even your precious Bucky.”

He moves fast, has a hand to her throat and pins her to the wall. “Don’t you  _ dare _ talk about Bucky.”

She’s smirking and he can  _ smell _ the shift in her pheromones. “There’s the soldier I know and love.” 

It’s the word  _ love _ that throws him. He’s been battling his emotions for months, been trying to put a name to the indescribable feelings surging through him, but love? Could it really be that simple? He doesn’t know if he wants to find out. 

Snarling, Steve drops his hand and backs away. He shakes his head, heads to the door, and slips on the weathered shoes he hasn’t worn in three weeks. “Goodbye, doll.” 


End file.
